A Hard Day's Night
by pseudanonymous
Summary: Wearing a suit and tie for court is boring, uncomfortable and perkfree. Or is it? The rating's gone up a bit. GregSara. Whoo.
1. Mr Straightedge

_**Author's note:** greetings all, and happy Chinese New Year! Being of the Chinese persuasion, as a friend of mine puts it, I've spent this weekend being stuffed within an inch of my life by my mother. Yum. Anyway, after getting really frustrated by all the maths in the latest chapter of 'How the Mighty Fall' (should be up in the next couple of days; just turning out to be longer than I expected), I happened to stumble across a lot of people's comments on the Greg/Sara interaction in 'Kiss Kiss, Bye Bye'. Sadly in England, season 6 only started here last night, so I've had to make do with clips off the internet. Anyway, here is a little smattering of Greg/Sara goodness. It was going to be a one-chapter thing, only I got carried away… next chapter there should be some shagging. Enjoy. Oh, and review. ;)_

* * *

Greg hated court days, and everyone knew it. It wasn't the having to sit in front of a roomful of strangers, or the being grilled by a hostile prosecutor on the minutiae of a case; it was the clothes. A suit and tie was not natural attire for the former wild child, and it showed. Tucking an unruly lock of hair behind his ear, Greg groaned as he recalled how Sara had caught him in the locker room preparing for his first ever court appearance, the prelim for the Sherlock case; remembered what she'd said. 'Mr Straightedge!' How could he forget? The name had stuck. Now even Judy on reception called it after him every time he set out for court.

He sighed, and cocked his head to one side, straightening his collar in front of the locker room mirror. His hair was getting pretty long now. Just as well, he thought, as he pulled a few curls forward; between the shirt collar and the haircut, he just about succeeded in disguising the hickeys that were yellowing on the sides of his neck.

'All ready to go, Mr Straightedge?'

Greg's eyes darted toward the corridor to see Sara leaning casually against the doorframe.

He turned back to the mirror, and decided to start over on his tie. 'Pretty much, no thanks to you.'

'Oh?' Sara ambled towards him, and settled behind his shoulder, looking at their reflections in the mirror. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

He glanced around the room and towards the door, to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. 'Just that you're the one that maimed me in the first place, and now I have to stand here like a dick trying to cover up the evidence. Unlike you, I can't take the easy way out with the all-day scarf routine,' he teased, reaching back to pull the strip of knit from around her throat.

'Oh no, Greggo, hands off the scarf,' she warned, wrapping her hands around his wrists. He twisted in her grip as they fought, but as usual, he lost when she grazed her teeth against his nape.

'Hey, that's cheating and you know it.'

'But you love it,' she countered, threading her fingers through his.

'Maybe… usually,' he conceded, 'but I'm meant to be in court in an hour and I'm hardly going to look like a convincing professional if I've got a bit fat teenager hickey on my neck.'

'It's at the back; no one'll notice with the hair.'

'What?' he cried, twisting out of her embrace for a moment and craning his neck to check. 'Are you serious?'

'No.' She laughed, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. 'You're bruise-free… apart from the leftovers, of course.'

'Thank God for that,' he sighed, straightening his tie a final time. Satisfied, he pushed his locker door to before returning his attentions to Sara. 'Anyway, what brings you here?'

'Just wanted to wish you luck. Which judge have you got?'

'Uh… Correll, I think.' He started to amble away from his own locker and towards the back of the room, and Sara followed. 'Hey, um…' he lowered his voice and glanced at the door yet again, before sinking down on a bench. 'What's with the, er… you know, touchy-feely? I thought you'd made your feelings on that pretty clear.'

'Well,' began Sara, dropping to the bench beside him, 'I guess I got carried away. I'm sorry.'

'No, no… I mean, I don't mind that bit at all, it's just… you know, a bit confusing with the mixed messages. You want to keep us under wraps at work, and then you start molesting me in the locker room?'

'No, I know, I'm sorry.' Sara covered Greg's hand discreetly with her own. 'You pissed with me?'

'What? No… not really.' He glanced at his watch. 'Look, can we do this later? I mean, I've got to get going… don't want to put the costume to waste.'

Sara smiled; he'd injected some light-heartedness back into the moment. They could let it slide… for now. 'We don't have to; I love it when you dress up,' she murmured archly. 'You'll find me when you're done?'

'Oh yeah…' he began, when they both turned at the click of heels that announced Catherine's arrival.

'Slacking off, you two?' she chided jokingly as she retrieved a tube of hand cream from her locker.

'No… no; I'm just off to court, as you can probably see,' stuttered Greg, gesturing at his get-up.

'I was just giving him the talk, you know? Eye-contact, yadda yadda,' provided Sara.

'Tell me about it,' sighed Catherine. 'I still find myself doing it to Nick and Warrick, and they've been here… how many years?' She shook her head. 'Maybe when you start going gray she'll lay off you, Greggo.'

'Maybe… anyway, I'd better be going; you know what the traffic's like this time.'

'Yeah. Good luck. Oh, and Sara – pow-wow in the break room, order of Grissom.'

'Right,' said Sara, rising from the bench. 'Good luck, Mr Straightedge,' she called after Greg as he made to leave.

'Sara, you of all people should know I'm anything but,' he replied with a wink, before sweeping out of the locker room.

'Don't we know it?' joked Catherine, oblivious to the subtext. 'Anyway, come on, co-worker; don't want to keep the boss waiting.'

'Certainly not,' murmured Sara, stepping quickly toward the exit. The night was definitely still young.


	2. Miss Scarlet

_**Author's Note**: here it is, part two. Something I've noticed, if you'll indulge me: there isn't a great deal of fic focussing on Greg and Sara's physical relationship, but in what I've seen, it's often Greg that seems to be the dominant partner. Now personally, I always thought that it was Sara's dominance and self-possession that attracted Greg to her in the first place, so here they are, poor fictional characters, in a play of mild dominance and submission. Enjoy._

* * *

They still hadn't discussed anything yet; this shouldn't be happening. That was what went through Greg's mind as he found himself pressed against the wall of his apartment, Sara's mouth on his. He winced as he tripped over the sneakers he had thrown carelessly by the door the previous day, almost knocking over a lamp as he sought to break his fall.

'I've told you about those before, haven't I?' Sara chided, her hand catching in her lover's hair.

'Yes, mom,' he muttered breathlessly.

* * *

They had a system. Never arrive at the same time – always take a slightly different route to work from whichever apartment we end up at… try not to leave at the same time more than three times a week… and so on. It seemed to be working; they had been seeing one another like this for nearly two months now, and no one at work seemed to be any the wiser.

Greg's actual testimony was over inside twenty minutes, but he was stuck at the courthouse until well past the end of shift. As usual, they had planned to meet back at his apartment. Much as Sara's was cleaner, and perhaps more spacious, Greg was always wanting to show her something or listen to something, and besides, his apartment was more homey than hers, something more than a place to sleep and knock back a microwaved meal between shifts. Not that they seemed to be getting a whole lot of sleep these days.

She had heard him standing outside the front door, fiddling to find the right key before slotting it into the lock. She decided to pre-empt him, and after flicking on the kettle padded toward the door and pulled open the latch. However, his key still in the lock, she pulled Greg with it, and he tripped over the threshold, careering into her.

'Err… hi,' he stuttered. 'I thought you'd still be back at the lab.'

'Nah; it got to the end of shift and I felt like making a move.'

'What, you? Miss Workaholic-I-maxed-out-on-overtime-every-month-last-year?'

'That was last year,' she muttered, before continuing seductively, 'now I've got something else to occupy my time.'

'Yeah?' His lips moved into a shy, lopsided smile, and his hands reached for hers. 'Me too.'

'How was court?'

'Boring. Isn't it always? Defense attorney was a complete ass as well… hey!' he looked down to find himself backed against the door, Sara kissing a path from the turn of his jaw to his throat. 'I thought you wanted…'

'Yeah…'

'Nympho.'

She laughed against his neck. 'And you're not?'

'Well, fair point, but still…' he shivered as her hands snaked under his shirt, and he responded by bringing his own to rest at her waist. 'Maybe we shouldn't do this against the door again… I'm pretty sure people can hear…'

'Ahhh, but that's all part of the excitement… the fear of getting caught… you never done it on a plane?'

His suit jacket was on the floor now. 'I don't know how anyone at work can believe you're so prim and proper when really you're so…'

'Kinky?'

'Fucking gorgeous.' He was getting into it now; any thoughts of an earnest discussion had been pushed to the back of his mind.

'Shut up, flatterer.' She caught his earlobe gently between her teeth, and under his shirt her fingers closed around a nipple.

'Hey, I mean it… ahhh…' his mouth was on hers now, her pelvis pressed to his, quite aware of his heightening arousal. 'You just don't know how to take a compliment.'

'And you do? Anyway… this is all beside the point…' her hand slipped into the waistband of his pants, and he gasped. 'Shall we take this elsewhere, Mr Straightedge?'

* * *

'Uh uh.'

Sara gripped his hands roughly as Greg made to take off his tie.

'What?'

'I get to do that.' Greg was backed against the bed now, and at her gentle push fell back against the sheets. Straddling him, Sara set her fingers to work at his collar, swiftly removing the strip of silk. Slowly, deliberately, she began unfastening the buttons of his shirt, pressing feather-light kisses against his chest as she worked.

'Hey… not this time,' she chided when she felt his hands working to slip her tank top over her head.

'Why not?' Greg looked at her, uncomprehending.

'Lie back… straight, on the bed.'

'Okay…' Confused, he complied with her request. 'What are you going to do to me? You wanna boss me around in the bedroom as well as at work?'

Sara was rooting around in his closet now. 'So what if I do?' She selected a tie from a hook on the door, then looked back at him. 'Do you ever fold your clothes?'

'Talk about ruining the moment… and yes, actually, I just haven't got round to doing it lately. And whose fault is that?… hey! What are you doing?'

She lay down next to him briefly, drawing him into a kiss. 'Don't you like surprises?'

'Sometimes… it all depends on what's involved… am I going to like this one?'

She looked up at him archly as she continued to work on his buttons. 'Why don't you wait and see?'

'Well…' he raised himself slightly, allowing her to slip the shirt from his shoulders. 'Just so long as it doesn't involve pantyhose and my neck… I'd hate for it to go wrong and then have Grissom come and find my naked…'

'I love it when you're dressed up,' breathed Sara, no longer listening to his ramblings. 'It's just like unwrapping a gift…'

'Yeah?' he replied, rising into her. Sara had pulled his hands above his head now, pinning them to the counterpane beneath her own. 'Maybe I should wear these shirts more often…'

'And even these might come in useful,' she said with a wry smile, holding up the neckties in her hands.

'Hey!' He started, trying to work free of her grip. 'What are you doing…?'

'Shhh.' She pressed a finger to his lips, then followed the finger with her mouth. 'It's all part of the surprise.'

* * *

_More to come!…_


	3. Big Time Sensuality

'Sara…' Greg's voice was cracked, catching in his throat as his bound hands twisted vainly at the bedpost. 'Oh, Jesus…'

Sara looked up to see him throw his head to the side, his features contorted in a grimace as she bit down on his flesh. Rosy lines glowed on his skin where her nails had raked his chest. Worried that she was hurting him, she rose from her place straddling his hips and brushed her hand to his face. 'Hey, baby, are you okay?'

Greg's eyes opened, his breathing shallow. 'Oh yeah.'

'Am I hurting you?'

'A little; but you can't really do the pleasure-pain thing without the pain, I guess.'

Sara cradled his face in her hands. 'Do you want me to stop?'

'No!' he answered quickly. 'No…' Greg turned his head towards her, and pressed his lips to hers. 'I just… isn't this all a little selfish? Of me, I mean. You're doing all this for me and I… I'm not doing anything for you.'

The corners of Sara's mouth twitched into a smile as she ran a hand lightly over her lover's torso. 'That's what you think?' She slid back down the comforter and rested her head on his chest. 'I enjoy my work.'

'But…'

Ssssh.'

Greg's protestations dissolved into gasps as Sara returned her attentions to his body, laving a nipple with her tongue and then blowing cool air upon the moistened skin. Greg's body arched beneath her in response, his hands straining at their bonds.

'What are you doing to me?'

'Just wait and see.'

'I've never been a patient man,' he murmured. 'Are you disfiguring me again?'

'Well…' Sara rocked herself against his pelvis, surveying her handiwork. The skin of Greg's chest was peppered with patches of red, and on his left shoulder was a sizeable ring of purple she had left in a moment of particular enthusiasm. 'Just a little.'

'You know I have to use the communal showers at work? And the locker room… how am I supposed to explain that one to Nick, or Warrick? Or God forbid I have another run-in with hazmat…'

'Greg!' Sara laughed a silvery laugh and fell forwards, propping herself on her elbows. 'I'm trying to be seductive here, you know? You think you could play along a little?'

'You don't need to try,' he breathed, rising into her. 'Everything you do is sexy to me.'

Sara scoffed. 'Where'd you pick up that line? Because it sucks.'

'It's not a line,' he protested, 'I mean it.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'You're not so bad yourself, you know,' said Sara, twisting a lock of his hair around her finger.

'Of course,' Greg replied with a wink. 'Anyway, where were we? I think you were being seductive, and I was being an immature jerk...'

Sara laughed again. Her plans of being an elegant and enticing femme fatale had gone out the window, but she didn't care. It had only been two months; less than that, really, and 'it' didn't even have a name – it wasn't a relationship, or even really an affair. It was just a thing, indefinable and unpredictable, but a hell of a lot of fun; rather like Greg himself, she thought. Sex and laughter weren't things she had ever thought of as natural bedfellows before but then hey, she had never thought of Sara Sidle and Greg Sanders as natural bedfellows either, and now here they were, lying laughing on wrinkled sheets as the sun shone down on the city behind the blinds.

'Sara?'

She raised her head, shaken out of her reverie. 'Yeah?'

'Do you feel like untying me?'

Sara was surprised to find that she felt strangely disappointed. 'Why? Are you uncomfortable with this sort of thing?'

'Not at all; I just really, really want to touch you…'

Sara smiled wickedly, her earlier resolve restored. 'Really?'

'Oh yeah.'

'In that case,' she replied, rising off of him, 'I'm sure you can wait just a little longer.'


End file.
